letting me into all
the facts of his life, he told me that he had made my replying at once
or not the turning-point of his fate. If the post had brought him
nothing, he would have drowned himself in the Liffey.

My second letter was the only sort of letter that it could be,--an
account of my own conjectures about him, and of my regret that I could
see no probability of my being of use to him, except in as far as my
experience of many troubles might enable me to speak suitably to him. I
added some few words on the dangers attending any sort of trouble, when
too keenly felt.

In answer to my first note came a few lines, telling me that the purpose
of his application was mainly answered, and that my reply was of
altogether greater consequence than I could have any idea of. He was
less unhappy now, and believed he should never be so desperately
wretched again. Wild as this might appear, I was still persuaded that he
was not insane.

By the next post came a rather bulky packet. It contained, besides a
letter from him, two or three old parchment documents, which showed that
Patrick's forefathers had filled some chief municipal offices in the
city in which the family had been settled for several generations. I had
divined that Patrick was a gentleman; and he now showed me that he came
of a good and honorable family, and had been well-educated. He was an
orphan, and had not a relation in the world,--if I remember right. It
was evident that he was poor; but he did not ask for money, nor seem to
write on that account. He aspired to a literary life, and believed
he should have done so, even if he had had the means of professional
education. But he did not ask me for aid in trying his powers in
literature. It was very perplexing; and the fact became presently clear
that he expected me to tell him how I could be of use to him,--he being
in no way able to afford me that information. I may as well give here
the key to the mystery, which I had to wait for for some time. When poor
Patrick was in a desperate condition,--very ill, in a lodging of which
he could not pay the rent,--threatened with being turned into the street
as soon as the thing could be done without danger to his life,--galled
with a sense of disgrace, and full of impotent wrath against an
oppressor,--and even suffering under deeper griefs than these,--at such
a time, the worn man fell asleep, and dreamed that I looked kindly upon
him. This happened three times; and on